


Can I Have This Dance?

by screengeekdiaries



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, Dancing, Destiel - Freeform, First Dance, First Kiss, High School Musical - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Slow Dancing, Supernatural - Freeform, Twerking, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screengeekdiaries/pseuds/screengeekdiaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nuh uh! Fred and Ginger, that’s dancing. The Lambada, that’s a freaking dance! Twerking, however, is not.” Dean stood determinedly, chair scraping noisily behind him. Cas twisted in his seat, following his journey across the floor.</p><p>“The net’s a wonderful thing, Cas, but it’s wrong about this one. Come on, I’ll teach you.”</p><p>“You know how to dance?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I Have This Dance?

Cas was being distracting, and not in his usual way.

Dean could cope with the usual way - the usual way involved sleepy smiles, puzzled frowns or very occasionally thunderous eyes that Dean just couldn't look away from. But what Cas was doing looked like some form of bizarre mating ritual, possibly performed by birds or baboons.

_That's it, Cas is getting cut off from the Discovery Channel!_

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" Dean gruffed eventually, folding down his long abandoned newspaper. Halting in the midst of his latest bum-bounce-shuffle-step- _thing_ Cas rose, out of puff but seemingly unbothered by the strangeness of his actions.

"I believe the youth of today call it... twerking?"

Blue eyes were blinded by cold coffee spray as it launched across the table. Dean choked, almost rocking off his chair, dabbing at the caffeine and saliva mix trailing down his chin.

"What - Why - WHAT?!"

"Twerking, Dean. A modern dance craze involving the shaking the glut-"

"I KNOW WHAT TWERKING IS!" Dean bellowed, wishing he could scrub the knowledge of how exactly he knew from his mind. Preferably with industrial bleach and a wire scrubber. Face rapidly heating up, he tried not to picture Cas in Miley Cyrus get-up, hoping against hope the resulting redness wasn't completely noticeable.

But if Cas did notice, he didn't say anything. Instead, pursing his lips, he flopped down into a nearby chair, arms crossed and resolutely refused to look Dean’s way.

_Oh great. Now he's sulking._

"Why were you... _twerking_ , Cas?" Voice reduced to a low splutter, Dean gritted his teeth against the awful word, levelling his gaze at the ex-angel across the table; despite his lack of smiting powers nowadays, Cas was still a guy Dean would prefer to have on his side. Sure he may still be having trouble with his shooting, but Cas could handle a blade better that anyone he’d ever come up against. Besides, Dean wasn't about to run the risk of Cas refusing to help one day, just ‘cause he was pissed at Dean over something so stupid.

Dude could really hold a grudge when he wanted to.

So he held firm, eyes boring into the side of Cas’s head, right where dark tendrils curled rebelliously behind a pinkening ear. He stared them down, wondering how they would feel twisted around his finger, before running a calloused hand through the shallow depths of deep, dark hair. Soft strands slipping beneath his skin. Strands he could imagine tugging, pulling, brushing away sweaty from glazed, hungry, begging eyes...

Eyes that were currently fixed on his, and not on the floor where they’d been five minutes ago.

Swallowing thickly, Dean tore his gaze upwards, frantically praying to deities he didn't believe in that Cas no longer possessed mind reading powers. Batman may have been thrown in for good measure. Marginally less distracted, he noted the slow blush creeping across Cas’s own cheeks, the sheepish look in his eyes as they quickly surveyed the room – Sam had been on a supply run for a while, and despite sporting a Sasquatch-like body he had a tendency to be ninja-quiet when returning home. His teeth nibbled at the chap of his lips as he leant towards him, Dean leaning closer, hoping to catch the whisper that threatened to slip between them.

“I was trying to learn to dance.”

The boom of laughter that burst forth from the hunter was not the response Cas desired.

“I’m being serious Dean!” Cas lamented, voice rising from between the giggles and hoots. “Sam leant me a film from the archives last night, and the way the couple moved was so… entrancing.” Cas stared off into the far distance, mind utterly enthralled in the memory. “Like they were gliding on ice. Flying, even. And I wanted to learn how to do it too so I… Googled it.”

“And you got twerking from that?!” Hiccupping, Dean tried to stow the humour bubbling in his throat.

“The Internet assured me it was the latest in modern dance movement.”

“Nuh uh! Fred and Ginger, that’s dancing. The Lambada, that’s a freaking dance! Twerking, however, is not.” Dean stood determinedly, chair scraping noisily behind him. Cas twisted in his seat, following his journey across the floor.

“The net’s a wonderful thing, Cas, but it’s wrong about this one. Come on, I’ll teach you.”

“You know how to dance?”

Dean paused as the words settled upon him; they weren't spoken in the same condescending, unbelievable way Sammy had said it twenty years previously, back when he was all teenage attitude and prom-filled angst. Dean could read it in the crook of his smile, the glint in his eye, the gentle surprise of discovering a new side to the hunter Cas had never seen before. Unexpected, but he seemed to like it. It sent warmth spreading through Dean’s chest, put a flutter in his heart.

Simply nodding in reply, Dean slid over to Sam’s laptop, left open and abandoned on the other side of the table. Casually checking around to make sure he was definitely out of the building, Dean clicked onto Sam’s iTunes account, scrolling through for anything that vaguely resembled a dance-related song; as much as Dean loved his vast collection of rock anthems, he didn't think ACDC and co were gonna help him teach Cas to waltz.

Smiling, frowning and tutting his way through Sam’s eclectic library choices ( _seriously? Eminem and Bach in one playlist?!_ ) he finally came across one that, judging from the title, could possibly work. Grunting in surprise at actually finding something, Dean pressed play, stepping away and heading back towards an intently staring Cas.

Until, wincing furiously as the first notes kicked in, Dean realised with a sinking stomach exactly what song he had chosen.

_Come on Sam! High School Musical? Really?!_

Cas tilted his head silently, curiously, as Dean slid-ran back over to the laptop, swiftly stopping the song before it ever hit the first verse. Determination lacing those freckled features, Dean sifted back through his options, cursing softly all the while, green eyes flickering down, down, down... His reputation would not sink low enough to use that Disney Channel trash!

But there was literally nothing else. Nothing. Not a dicky bird. Dean sighed, hands digging into the table top, gaze rising to face the former angel as excuses danced over his tongue. Excuses that died one by one as he watched Cas’s face flit from withheld disappointment to unadulterated understanding; the pure, childlike wanting in amongst the “It’s ok Dean’s” and “You don’t have to if you don’t want to’s”, eyes downcast and dewy as he picked the skin around his nails.

Dean couldn’t say no to that. It would be like kicking a puppy. A puppy whose smile was so brilliant, so warm, wide and gummy Dean would do anything to bring it back. Coughing, he rolled his shoulders determinedly and straightened his back. He could swallow his pride for this. Cas wanted to learn how to dance, and Dean was bloody well gonna teach him!

Dean just had to make a mental note to give Sammy shit about it later.

_“Take my hand, take a breath,  
Pull me close and take one step…”_

Crossing the distance between them, Dean briefly wondered whether the library would be big enough to do this; it was, after all, no rooftop garden (what? There had been a lot of lonely motel nights over the years. So he may have caught a few scenes here and there. Shut it!)

But as soft, tanned fingers laced gingerly through his, he found himself no longer caring whether it was books or bouquets that surrounded them. He didn't even care that he didn't care, too preoccupied with touching Cas, carefully manipulating his lithe, strong body into the correct waltz position. Once to Dean’s satisfaction, he took up his own hold, annoyed that they had to keep their bodies a suitable distance apart.

They could dance around the table if needs be.

_“Keep your eyes locked on mine,  
And let the music be your guide…”_

The first steps nearly sent them both to the ground, heads clanging together, what with Cas looking studiously at his feet rather than at anything around them. A gentle finger under his chin lifted blue eyes to green, their calm and infinite trust sending butterflies to Dean’s belly. So they tried again.

_“Won’t you promise me (now won’t you promise me, that you’ll never forget)  
We’ll keep dancing (to keep dancing) wherever we go next...”_

Step, two, three, step, two, three... Dean counted in time to the music, just loud enough for Cas to hear. The concentration adorning Cas’s face increased tenfold as he replicated, Dean watching those lips silently sound out each step they took together. Only when that slow, surprised smile came back did Dean let an old, long forgotten joy course through his body; they were doing it, they were actually doing it!

_“It’s like catching lightning the chances of finding someone like you,  
It’s one in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do...”_

A gentle push at Cas’s hands moved them from their box, the unexpected manoeuvre alarming Cas until Dean placed a guiding hand on his hip. The warmth and stability of the touch seemed to loosen his body, relaxing them both as they began to travel. With their bodies no longer stiff and taught, with their minds caught up in the song, their feet began to glide, moving between them as if they had choreographed it.

As they completed their first lap of the table, Dean found that neither of them needed to count anymore.

 _“And with every step together, we just keep on getting better,_  
_So can I have this dance (can I have this dance)_  
 _Can I have this dance?”_

The room around them dissolved into nothingness as they began to spin, both of them forgetting that there was a world, a life outside the library. With each rotation Dean forgot why they were dancing in the first place, forgetting all about proper positions as their arms dropped, chests inching closer; all the memories, of the hours of practice he put in for a prom he never went to, were washed aside as their bodies melded together, getting closer and closer with each revolution, his mind needing nothing other than the feel of flesh and cloth and hands and hips, swirling together to the sound of the music. As he got lost in the watery depths of the man before him, he began to believe that maybe, just maybe, this old Disney song was made just for them; from the dark days of Metatron’s vengeance ( _“Don’t be afraid, afraid to fall”_ ) to Dean saving Cas as he skittered on a spin ( _“You know I’ll catch you through it all”_ ) it spoke all the words they’d never got to say. All the things they’d wanted to say. Spoke everything they needed to say to each other as they silently waltzed around the room.

Until finally, as the last chorus drew to a close, they released each other and ran down opposite sides of the table, finger tips brushing in mid air as they half dashed, half danced down its breadth, smiles wide and laughing with glee at the sheer corniness of the move as they collided back together again. And there they stayed at the head of the table, arms tangled, foreheads gently pressed together, slowly swaying in time to nothing in particular. Nothing but sound of heartbeats playing in their ears as Cas leaned in for a slow, chaste kiss...

Sam lingered quietly in the doorway, smiling, happy that his two idjits had finally got their act together. He allowed himself a moment in their presence, contentment filling his heart, before eventually turning and giving them their privacy.

And as he walked away, he knew: Jess may never have got her song on their wedding day, but she’d be happy for Cas and Dean to borrow it for theirs.

_Can I have this dance?  
Can I have this dance..._

**Author's Note:**

> ENJOY THE FLUFF, PEOPLES!
> 
> Seriously, I hope you guys enjoyed :) As always, comment and kudos if you liked this oneshot, or come find me at ooohesslimandalittlebitfoxy.tumblr.com to request your own SPN fic ~ Elle x


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